Obsession
by smurf.magic
Summary: Obsession, love, and hate are always balanced precariously on a scale. First fanfic. REWRITING. First few chapters rely heavily on ALW's musical, but will diverge and become much darker. Rated M for suggestive and dark themes and for future chapters. NonCon&violence later. ON HIATUS
1. According To Plan

**Hey peoples! This was my first fanfic. I started writing it when I was sixteen, and gave up because it was mildly awful. Now I'm rewriting it and editing it, and I hope you all like it! I like the idea of the Phantom from Leroux's book, where he is scary and murderous. He's obsessed with Christine, and I'm going to take this fic in a dark direction (dark directions are my favorite directions!). **

**I don't own anyone or anything, sadly. The characters belong to Leroux, and the music/lyrics and the setting that I picture in my head are property of Andrew Lloyd Weber, Charles Hart, and a few other people whose names I can't think of. Please read and review, telling me what you think. **

**Enjoy!**

Erik had always thought she was beautiful, even when she was only seven and had just come to the opera house. He chuckled as he thought back to when she first called him her angel of music. He was only twenty-one then. He would sing to her, and she would sing back. What a gorgeous voice she had! With his help, it was now the most grand and stunning voice in all of Paris. It was a shame that no one knew it yet.

She had been there for eleven years now, and still she thought him her angel. She had big brown doe eyes and beautiful brown, curly hair. He had always wanted to run his fingers through that hair, but he was never close enough to her. There was always something coming between them, usually his one-way mirror. He smiled darkly. He would be able to touch her soon enough.

Tonight had gone according to plan so far. She was Carlotta's replacement in Hannibal, just as he had wanted. The play would soon be over and he would take her as soon as she got to her dressing room.

Would she be frightened of him? Of his face marred by scars? Perhaps if he kept his mask on at all times she would not notice. The scars were only on one side and the mask covered them beautifully. Yet she was so curious all the time…He would have to keep her in check.

Christine. He thought of her as he waited in the secret passage behind her mirror. He thought of her innocence and youth - such a stark contrast to himself, the Phantom of the Opera. Though he was but thirty-two years old, many men had died at his hand. He was a ruthless, angry man, and curious intruders incensed him, with their scuttling about the opera house, trying to find the Phantom. Few had ever gotten to the truth, that he was no supernatural creature, just a wicked beast tormented by beauty. He relished each time he got hold of them, snapping their necks with his Punjab lasso or trapping them in his heated maze of mirrors.

His train of thought was broken as the door creaked. She was back…but what was this? She was with a man? Erik scrutinized the figure that entered. No, he was but a boy. He was obviously some form of nobility, he looked so…delicate.

Erik waited behind the mirror, listening to them speak sweet nothings to each other. The boy obviously thought he was in love, and his idiocy slowly stoked the rage that was burning in Erik's gut. The boy knew _nothing_ of love. Yet, Christine was responding to him, this Raoul. How dare they?!

He was irate. Why did she think she could be with anyone but him? She belonged to _him_ and no one else. And who was this Raoul to think that he could take her away? This boy would have to be taken care of, and soon.

"I'll order my carriage. Twenty minutes, Little Lotte," spoke the boy as he exited the room. Erik fumed and exhaled through clenched teeth. She would not be going anywhere with him.

"No, Raoul, wait!" She replied. They had been arguing about whether to leave or not, and Christine wriggled uncomfortably. She had told Raoul of her angel, and Erik had been so pleased with her then. But as the boy sniggered and argued and pushed to take Christine out, Erik had gotten angrier and angrier. Erik smiled cruelly. It would be the Punjab lasso for Raoul, and he would make it last.

Fifteen minutes later, Christine had changed into her sleeping attire and left Raoul waiting. _Good girl_, Erik thought. He watched as she took a large sip of the wine that was resting on her dressing table. _Perfect_, he smiled. His faithful friend Madame Giry had drugged it, when she had deposited his rose.

"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion, basking in your glory," he sang to her, his blatant fury causing her to wince. "Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, sharing in MY triumph." He watched as her face dropped in fear.

"Angel, I hear you speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me," she sang back meekly. "Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, Master."

Erik smirked to himself, pleased at her words. She was ever so obedient.

"Flattering child, you shall know me. See why in shadows I hide. Look at your face in the mirror. I am there inside." As he sang to her, she was hypnotized. She did not even notice when he opened the mirror for her to enter.

"Angel of music, guide and guardian, pray, to you all glory! Angel of music, hide no longer, secret and strange angel!" She sang as she inched toward the new opening.

There was a moment where the world stood still just then – Erik waiting for her to take his hand, Christine hesitating in her hypnotized stupor. Then she grasped his hand and the world turned again. He sighed inwardly in relief, relishing the thought of what was to come. He would finally get to feel her, finally get to touch her soft skin and her beautiful tresses.

They sang to each other as he led her down to his home. She followed him through the passage and down the stairs, down the ramp on the horse and across the lake in his venetian boat, and finally to the candlelit cavern where he resided.

Everything was going according to plan.

**Sorry it's so short! The next chapter is going to be a little short too, but chapter three is longer! Bear with me :)**


	2. The Music of the Night

**In case anyone forgot, I'm just being a fangirl over here. As much as I would love to own the Phantom (especially Gerry's version, oh oh or Ramin Karimloo's version!), I don't, so don't sue :) Everything belongs to Leroux, ALW, and Charles Hart.**

**Without further ado, here's chapter two, rewritten! **

**Enjoy!**

Christine sat, dazed, in the boat. Where was she? What was this place? All the candles and the magnificent organ… How did she get here? Was she not just in her dressing room? Then she heard it and lost all train of thought. She heard her Angel's glorious voice, sweeping toward her. In this cavern, it encircled her, washed over her, bathing her in its splendor. Its deep, rich tones were riddled with masculinity. The well-known voice coaxed her out of the thick fog of her hypnotized mind, and she relaxed into the boat.

"I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne, to this kingdom where all must pay homage to music," he sang to her.

It was then that she truly noticed the figure in front of her. The source of the voice was as beautiful to her as the sound that emanated from it. He was tall, well-dressed, and very nicely built. She could only see half of his face, but what little she saw was stunning and left her awestruck. But she was intrigued most of all by the object that covered the right side of his face… The stark white mask. Only his eyes could compete with that peculiar object. His clear, green, bright eyes lured her into them and pierced her soul.

"You have come here for one purpose and one alone," she held her breath as he continued to sing to her. "Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me, to serve me, to sing for my music." She quickly licked her lips, baffled at her feelings. "My music," he repeated, almost as if needing an answer to an unasked question.

Giving her his hand, he led her slowly out of the boat. Was this a dream? Was this ballad that he was singing to her only in her mind? She could hardly tell. If it was a dream, she never wanted to wake up. His voice enveloped her and sang of the music of the night. Her senses were overrun with music and touch until she could not tell the difference between them. As his music caressed her soul, she was only vaguely aware of his hands on her waist, his body against her back. All too soon, his touch was gone, replaced only by his engulfing voice.

He continued his serenade as he motioned for her to look inside a small alcove. Smiling and trusting, she did as she was beckoned. But as she saw what was inside, the smile was replaced with a look of confusion and fear. Inside the alcove, she saw herself. But blackness and a feeling of falling soon replaced the vision of herself clad in a white wedding dress reaching toward her.

...

Erik smiled to himself as he carried Christine from the alcove. Gently, he laid her in the embrace of the red satin sheets of his swan-adorned bed. He pulled a golden cord and caused a veil to close around her beautiful, sleeping body. Then he retreated to his organ to think.

She had responded perfectly to his song for her, and of course the mannequin as well. Though he hadn't expected her to be so startled by seeing herself in the dress, he was stilled pleased with her. His plans would still continue, and hopefully without a hitch.

His thoughts quickly strayed from his scheming and focused on the feel of her body lying back, flush with his. As he sang to her, she had relaxed and leaned against him, letting him explore her upper body with his gloved hands. He had concentrated very hard to stop from grinding against her, but his thoughts were filthy. As he sang sweet music to her, he thought of bending her over the large organ and taking her. He had reveled in the way her hair caressed his chin as she laid her head against his chest. Her smell had been so intoxicating. It was indescribable and frustrating, like a memory of something you couldn't quite remember.

He had to distract himself from his growing need to satiate the tension inside his body. His lust was overwhelming him, so he turned to his composition. His music was his escape. Losing himself in his passion, he blocked everything but the music from his mind and senses. He didn't even notice that Christine had woken up.

**I promise this is the last super short chapter guys. Thanks for sticking with me! **


	3. Stranger Than You Dreamt It

**I think I win the award for worst updater in history. I can't believe it's been seven years! Can I use the excuse that I had a really gnarly case of writer's block? **

**Anyway, I'm finally going to keep up with this story. I don't own the Phantom or any of the lyrics/music. All characters and other recognizable details belong to Leroux, Weber, Hart, and some other people that aren't me. *runs away and cries in the corner*  
**

**Enjoy!**

Christine blinked against her fuzzy vision and tried to make sense of her surroundings. She could hear discordant music echoing around her, and she struggled to banish her confusion. She scrunched her fingers against the satin sheets she was laying on and sat up. Cautiously, she looked around. A ruched, lacey black veil partially obscured her view of the rest of the room, but she could make out a music box on the table beside the bed. Atop the music box was a monkey, in finely detailed Persian robes. He was playing the cymbals and his face held a strange expression. It seemed almost sad.

She rubbed her forehead and listened. The music continued to flow around her as she drew back the veil and stood. Taking one last glance around the room, she noticed that the bed was round, sculpted into the shape of a swan. The whole room was rather exotic, and she wondered if she was still in Paris. She caught her reflection in a small mirror near a doorway, and she studied herself for a moment. Her dressing gown was open and loose on her shoulders. She attempted to be more modest and wanted to tie the gown closed, but as she reached down for the ribbons, she noticed they were no longer there. _Strange, they must have been pulled off during my dream-like trip_, she puzzled to herself. She tried to smooth her unruly, curly hair, but it was too mussed up. She had dark circles around her chocolate eyes and her face was flushed from sleep. Her stockings had rolled down, and she bent and returned them to their original position. Her dress had shifted under her corset while she was asleep, and the side-slit had migrated to right between her legs. She couldn't adjust her dress without taking off the difficult boning, so she resigned herself to leave it and hoped it didn't reveal too much. After a slight pause, she exited through the doorway.

She followed the haunting music and made her way through a short hallway with damp stone walls, emerging in a large candlelit cavern. Her Angel sat at the large organ that reigned over the room, completely immersed in his composition. Snippets of memory stuttered back to her, though it was all so foggy and dreamlike. Being led through a narrow hallway, down a large staircase… And did she ride a horse? Were they still even under the Opera House, or had they travelled much farther in the catacombs? She was so confused and disoriented.

The figure at the organ intrigued her, with his rocking back and forth and forceful playing. Slowly, she crept toward him, avoiding the flickering candles that were scattered about, and trying not to fall into the water below.

"I remember there was mist… swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake," she sang as she recalled what little she could make sense of. He stopped playing and listened as she tiptoed ever closer. "There were candles all around and on the lake there was a boat, and in the boat there was a man."

She had reached him, and the stark white mask beckoned to her. She moved to touch his handsome face. "Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask?" She could no longer help herself as she grasped the edge of the mask and quickly pulled it away. She was barely able to see what it concealed before he had tossed her backwards to the ground.

….

Erik had been working on his masterpiece, his grand composition that pushed the boundaries of the drivel the Opera House was playing these days. Christine would sing it, and everything would change. He would get all that he wanted, and she would be by his side. He was startled out of his reverie by her clear voice. She was singing, and he paused to heed her.

Listening closely, he could sense that she had advanced and was just behind him. He was startled when he felt her soft hand on his face, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her, inhaling her scent. He could feel the soft curves of her body beneath her corset and he longed to touch her. He opened his eyes into slits, and he was shocked that he could see the creamy flesh of her naked upper thighs. As she continued to sing and caress his face, he could feel that he was losing control, his hunger for her escalating. He reached up and placed his hand over hers fleetingly, before returning it to his lap to hide his growing want. He contemplated stroking her thigh, sliding his hand up and brushing her warm folds. Would she shiver and open her legs wider, like she did in his dreams? His mind wandered to images of her underneath him, head thrown back, moaning and panting, her curly hair entwined in his fingers - - things he had thought of countless times when he was alone.

He was stunned out of his reverie in a split second, feeling cold air rush onto his marred face. His rage, the monstrous beast he tried to keep at bay, roared forward, and he threw her to the ground. Watching her as she cowered in fear, he snarled obscenities at her while covering the spoiled side of his face with his hand. He stalked around her, questioning her. "Is this what you wanted to see?!" Pausing at one of the many mirrors in the cavern, he briefly uncovered his face. He was disgusted at his own reflection and quickly hid it behind his large hand. He threw a few more abuses her direction, before spitting his next words at her.

"Now you cannot ever be free! Damn you! Curse you…"

Tears trickled down her face and he knew she was scared of him. Although her terror was intoxicating and made his pants grow ever tighter, this wasn't part of his plan yet, and he attempted to assuage her panic. "Stranger than you dreamt it, can you even bear to look or bear to think of me? This loathsome gargoyle who seems a beast but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly, secretly…" He trailed off, trying to tame his fury, and slowly sat near her.

Studying her as she looked down at the mask in her hands, he continued. She was relaxing. Perfect. He was still irate, never intending for her to see his horrible deformity, and he forced himself to not strike her. "Fear can turn to love, you'll learn to seek to find the man behind the monster," he motioned down his body with his free hand and looked away. "This repulsive carcass who seems a beast but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly, secretly…" He silently pleaded with her, and she outstretched a shaking arm toward him.

He turned and grasped the mask she offered, now stained with a few frightened tears, and secured it on his face. He stood up and looked down at her small form. She was quite beautiful and as he towered over her, he had to breathe deeply to keep from taking her right there and spoiling his plan.

"Come. We must return," he spoke sharply and abruptly. "Those two _fools_ who run my theater will be missing you."

…

It was too late, she had seen his face. She recoiled in fear on the floor as he screamed at her. She wasn't sure if she was shaking because of his wrath or because of his frightful visage. His face, although strikingly handsome on one side, looked as though it had melted off beneath the mask. The skin was bubbled and a dreadful shade of splotchy red, and she shuddered as she recalled the lack of features. It was an amorphous blob of flesh, scarcely revealing a pale green eye and it was completely unearthly and wrong when compared to the rest of him.

She barely caught his words, flung at her with such hatred that she felt they would burn her skin. As he lurked near her, she cringed in horror when he muttered that she would never be free. She was trapped here? How could he do this? Her Angel was supposed to watch over her! She was rapidly losing control of her emotions, and she began to cry.

Frantically, she looked around the cavern for an escape, but stopped to rest her gaze on the phantom in front of her. She watched warily as he seemed to soften, and as he sat near her, she listened to him sing. Slowly, her fear turned to compassion. He was breaking her heart with his self-loathing, and as he neared the end of his tragic melody, she returned his mask. She watched his long, muscled legs extend, and as he stood up, his disguise firmly in place, he commanded she follow. He was returning her to the opera house.


	4. Interlude I

**Hey peoples! Sorry it's taken so long to update, I've been working on my other stories. Also, my life is crazy busy and I'm just trying to keep my head above water! Bear with me, I'm trying :)**

**I don't own anything even remotely close to the sexiness that is the Phantom. Be warned: this chapter shows a little bit more of the creeper/stalker/possibly-rapey side of the Phantom.**

Erik watched through the mirror as Christine slept on the dressing room's chaise. He had brought her back to the opera house a few hours before, and after he retreated back to his dark hallway, she had again partaken of the drugged wine. As he lurked behind the mirror, his eyes had followed every last drop that raced past her lips and down her throat. In no time, she had made her way to the fainting couch and fallen deeply asleep.

He could not get enough of her—her milky skin, her dark hair, her deep brown eyes. He was a man obsessed, and her angelic voice made his longing so much worse. Her voice haunted him everywhere he went and his only relief was stalking around the opera house, following Christine. He was rapidly losing control and he needed to have her soon, before he became completely overcome with lunacy.

Tonight was the performance of Il Muto, Erik had heard them practicing. He had cringed at the thought of the pompous diva Carlotta portraying the countess. The role of the countess called for charm and appeal, which was perfect for his beautiful Angel. The Phantom had sent multiple letters to the owners and performers alike, demanding that Carlotta play the silent pageboy, and Christine play the lead. His disgust for Carlotta had morphed quickly into bubbling rage when the owners had ignored his instructions. He would make them all pay for pushing Christine aside to make room for Carlotta's oversized ego.

Now, behind the mirror, Erik ironed down the details of his plan as he viewed Christine's sleeping form. He inhaled sharply through his teeth as she shifted, her nightgown riding up between her legs. Not only could he see her creamy white flesh, but also her gown was hugging her form, and he longed to step through the mirror and caress the gentle slope at the apex of her thighs. Enraptured, he watched as she sighed, her lips barely parting as she exhaled a quiet mewl.

He couldn't handle it any longer and opened the reflective door. Her chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm and he matched his footsteps to her breathing. He reached the chaise, and he outstretched a gloved hand to stroke her face. When she didn't budge, he knew she was asleep and dead to the world. He wanted—no, _needed_—to touch her skin, so he calmly removed his gloves. Sitting on the edge of the cushion, he slowly and deliberately ran his hand from the naked skin on her knee up, pausing a few inches from the end of her gown. The touch was electric for him and sent aftershocks radiating to his core, echoing into his hardening arousal.

Gauging for her reaction, he dipped his fingers under the hem of her gown, and his hand continued its ascent up her leg. Seconds later, he had reached the soft skin of her hipbone. Her cheeks colored, prompting him to slide his hand toward her center, and he gently stroked the hot flesh there. She mewled in her sleep and he smirked. He was enjoying this immensely. The flush of her skin, her quiet moans and the searing warmth from her silky core was driving him wild. He moved his freehand to his lap, trying desperately to alleviate the tight pull of his trousers.

Her perfect, red rosebud lips were beckoning him closer. In a fog of desire, he bent towards her and placed a chaste kiss on her perfect mouth. The embrace wasn't enough to slake his thirst for her-it only awakened more lust. He curved toward her again, this time slowly running his tongue from the hollow of her throat and up the column of her neck, to stop just below her ear, where he nibbled on the lobe.

His hands continued to stroke both her tender spot and his own as he kissed and sucked his way back down her neck, until he was startled by a sharp knock on the door. He froze, waiting for another sound. There was another loud rap on the door, and he huffed in annoyance at the interruption before withdrawing from Christine's side and scuttling back behind the mirror.

As Erik watched from behind his secure glass door, Madame Giry entered the dressing room and, with much effort, woke Christine. Christine followed Madame Giry in a dreamy haze, exiting the ornate room and leaving Erik alone with his arousal, violently cursing the intrusion.

**I know it's another short chapter, but I hope you guys liked it! So far, I'm trying to stick with the major events/progression of the musical, but I also can't help myself. I have to throw some shmexy times in there. Be patient, it's just a bit of a teaser for what's to come! It'll get juicier, I promise ;)**


End file.
